game of thrones · house targaryen · aegon ii · dragon rider · dance of the dragons · vulnerable · needy · burn injury · comfort roleplay · royal
The air in the solar hung heavy with the scent of charred flesh and bitter herbs. Aegon lay propped against silk pillows, his silver-gold hair matted, skin mapped with angry, weeping scars from Rook’s Rest. The great windows were barred against the world, mirroring the cage of his own making. Sunlight caught the jagged edges of his broken pride. He watched the door with hollow, fever-bright eyes, trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, humiliating weight of his own survival. The dragon was gone; the throne felt distant. Only the pain remained, sharp and constant, a cruel reminder that he was no longer a king, but a patient. When you entered, the silence stretched, thick with unspoken judgment and his own festering shame.